Titum Arum

Shared at Imaginary Garden With Real Toads … challenge: The Language of Flowers.

This outrageous plant known as the Corpse Flower is rare, large and smells horrific, like a corpse. The Missouri Botanical Garden of world renown, due primarily to their research around the globe, is a treasure here in my city of St Louis. Although I did not see the actual blooming of this plant just recently – it surely does inspire! None of the photos were taken by me, they belong to The Missouri Botanical Garden website. But permissions appear to allow for private use. So with difficulty I downloaded them – the difficulty being that they kept changing. PLEASE go to their site and see this extraordinary plant. Here is the link:

scintillating bloom
you reek your way thru our lives
at once so lovely

I AM HAVING PROBLEMS WITH WP’S FORMAT AND ADS I have not solicited to place ADs here. They are not mine!

Words, Words, Words

With a nod to Yousei Hime who truly had an influence upon my haiku writing last winter … no, it was the winter before, when I was not able to do a whole lot else. I learned to truly enjoy one line haiku. So these four haiku are for the prompt at The Imaginary Garden With Real Toads . Kind of stupidly I wrote the haiku incorporating words from the list before I paid attention to kigo … something that I now must do. The wordlist is from Patricia McGoldrick whose blog can be found here. Her word list from which poems were meant to be written follows the 4 haiku. Thank you Patricia for your prompt and hard work.

I am adding these words 1:57 PM 10/03/13, sort of for accuracy, I guess. 1,2, and 4 are haiku because their subjects are related to nature. 3 really is a senryu because it is like a haiku in form but as it is about human beings it is called a senryu.

with the death of weeds – wildflowers spring to life

snow laden cherry tree branches – shelter a chickadee

share sake and borrow laughter – to quench your tears

leaves turning color – make a painted fall fence

Patricia’s Word List

Neighbor / Neighbours

Fences

Handshake

Barbecue Potluck

Borrow

Return

Garden

Weeds

Trees

Snow

Weather

Laughter

Tears

Children

Parents

Birth

Death

Teenagers

Stoop

Deck

Little Bits Of Humor In Life (very little)

Haibun

Conrad Dobler

My question is this, should this very short piece be marked as sexually explicit or tagged as humor? I am going with the latter, with the sincere hope that I don’t offend anyone.

For no apparent rhyme or reason the strangest things come out of my mouth … we are speaking words not creatures. One summer afternoon many years ago immediately after my husband and I had made wondrous love, I sat straight up, opened my mouth and shouted: “Conrad Dobler.” After such warm and intimate moments one might expect sweet nothings for that matter sweet something’s to come out of one’s wife’s mouth. I at that time had no idea who Conrad Dobler was. I learned that he was a professional football player Needless to say my husband was shocked and then went into immediate fits of extreme laughter. This morning many years later I awoke with this man’s name on my mind again after dreaming about him. Why, I ask? That’s rhetorical by the way – please don’t answer.

one layered kimono – good for summer love making

Served up at dVerse Poetry Pub.

It Was The War

Haibun
Mummy died in 2000, Pup in 2003. I had the tasks of property management and medical care management for my father utilizing the services of 8 employees between the time my mother and father died. I returned to Vermont from the Midwest more times during that first year of oversight than I had visited in the last 34 years. I would oversee the administration of two estates while attempting to manage my own business at home. All done while my siblings would attempt to sue me. I was soon to discover two WWII scrapbooks of my mothers. They were astounding. She served in London in the European Branch of the OWI. The Office of War Information was the Propaganda Wing of the US Government. I have no idea what she did. A while back I read something within these books that makes me believe that she was at one time behind enemy lines in Europe. She endured bombings of London. I do know that it radically changed and reshaped her forever. Today I fully understand her ghastly mothering.

screeching kingfisher
dives and skims the cool water
minnow for dinner

Haibun
“The War was the most exciting time of my life” she said to me in 1998 on the phone. I could only think: “who finds war exciting?” War is grim, grotesque, horrific and evil. I lived through the fears of the Vietnam War Era. I did not relate to Mummy’s nostalgic trip back in time at all. In 2005 I had a spiritual experience that initiated me into my parent’s world. Willingly, I placed myself inside the mind of a Vietnam War Veteran, a stranger. This experience one of shattering pain and one of pure ecstasy lead me to (among other things) study war. The experience in its entirety taught me things that I otherwise would never have known, nor understood about life. It was a truly life altering experience.

firefly lightening
stretching across the meadow
like doodle bugs

Doodle Bug was the British name for the Flying V-1 Bomb(s) dropped on Great Britain By Germany during WWII.

Haibun
I was the apple of my father’s eye when I was born in 1946. Tragically this love ended around 1951. The destructive results of WWII were catching up with both my parents. They each retreated within as two more children were born. The loss of my father’s love would shape my life to come and dominate it for many years in a most un-positive manner. Following my 2005 spiritual experience, I was to experienced my father’s love as it washed over me for the next couple of years replenishing and nourishing all that had been taken away.

little cicada
shedding its summer body
soon too it shall die

I am discovering that this desire to write my memoir through haibun, haiku, haiga and other forms of Japanese poetry will be very difficult. As all know there are many RULES to follow when writing Japanese forms of poetry. I wish to comply however, I must not only write poetry, I must tell an interesting story … or many interesting stories. And I have so many photos. I have removed from these scrapbooks 1/3 of the contents, leaving 2/3 left to with grave difficulty remove, clippings, postcards, letters, dance cards, dinner dates … all sorts of things. These scrapbooks are now 74 years old. Fragile. Each item must be removed with care and then I must have them scanned … by a commercial organization. All when I am not ill – hopefully. I wish to move forward, it is such a slow pace however. I will get there I keep telling myself. Thank you for reading, for your support and for following me.

Please comment critically. As relates to the paragraph just above, I have now written 5 haibun. A haibun is a paragraph of prose about a place, an object or person. My initial 2 haibun were longer – more about me. I wish to get the story across, each story in one short paragraph. I have shortened these 3 above, made theme more concise. Are they two short? Do they tell enough? Do they actually hold your interest and would they make you wish to read more and finish the book (that will be filled with photos? I don’t know. Please you let me know what you think and feel. You won’t insult me. I wish to create a thing of beauty. Remember this will largely be filled with WWII memorabilia. It will tell one how war effects those born into new generations far away from the war experienced by the generation before. It will be a book that I hope will be placed upon the coffee table.

Shared with Poets United for the Sunday Poetry Pantry.

The “N” Word

Haibun

I grew up with the N word. I do believe my mother may have been the most racist person I have ever known. Her racism however did something positive to me; it gave me great empathy for those different from myself. This experience made me seek diversity as I grew up. My mother didn’t like Jews, African Americans, the Irish, and Italians; come to think of it she did not like anyone. My family did not have television when we were children. One summer I was sent to Maryland. I was at that time showing an interest in boys and apparently behaving badly. I was placed upon a Greyhound bus in Manchester, Vermont and got off somewhere in Maryland. With my little transistor radio close to my ear I listened to the news regarding the March on Washington. I was deeply moved even enraged by the injustice that I heard. Oh how I longed to get off that bus and join Civil Rights Workers as they marched on Washington! This was a defining moment in my life.

yellow butterfly
alights upon the barley
distant lightening

This is gratefully shared at Poets United Poetry Pantry

Forgive me. I had not realized when I wrote this that we had a Disney theme this week.

it is poetry to my ears

I have been floundering, excited about writing my memoirs but not happy about loosing contact with my poet friends, really, really not happy! So, what should I do? Should I write all of the time? Should I write memoir one day and poetry the next? No, for I haven’t the time. Then I came upon a solution that evolved from a thought that I had last year. Most of you know that I absolutely love Japanese forms of poetry. I was ill for more than 1/2 of last year (yes, it appears to be perennial) during which time I studied Japanese poetry, especially haiku, haiga, haibun, tanka. I committed myself to writing one haiku per day during my illness. This act was a spiritual discipline. That is part one. Secondly, the photos from my mother’s WWII scrap books are the real inspiration for this memoir. I wish to honor her work in London during the bombings. She was an awful mother and I did not like her. I came late in life to understand that her poor mothering was in great part a function of the war. For this reason I can tell you that war reaches down through the ages and effects those of new generations. I have finally concluded that this story can only be told through the lens of my own life. I say why not write it using Japanese forms of poetry? How does that sound? I think that it solves all of my problems! It sounds absolutely perfect. It is poetry to my ears. I do not think that it has been done before. The only thing that even comes close is “Walden Pond” re-done in haiku. Tell me what you think. Am I going out on a limb? And oh, one is supposed to start out with a bang, a whopper of a first sentence, or in my case a whopper of a haibun. You are meant to draw one in to your story. For those who may not know, a haibun is prose followed by a haiku. Traditionally this prose speaks of a place, a person or a scene and today memoir. A haiga is art with a haibun or haiku. the art of which I speak is photography.

Haibun

I was nine years old. I walked into the employee’s cloakroom of my mother’s place of employment. I was a very little kid. I rifled through all of the coat pockets. In one pocket I found $1000. Wow! I stole it. This was 1955. I knew that I had done something really bad because of the feelings of dread in my tummy. But it was a great feeling to have some money. I went to the general store and I bought some candy. I understood the power of money at that young age. I understood it because I had none and my parents had a good bit which they did not share. It was as if we three kids were poverty stricken. Today I remember little else of this episode. I was confronted and caught by my parents. I am not sure how, but I suspect showing up at the general store with a $100 bill in a town of 500 was a dead giveaway. I cannot remember my punishment. My father remedied this situation by giving me a room in the Big Barn. We had the Big Barn and the Little Barn. The horses, the tack room, our riding ribbons, trophies and a large collection of carriages and sleighs were kept in the Big Barn. In my new room in the Big Barn filled with hay and pigeon droppings he put a small roll-top desk for my use. Perhaps this act was in recognition that everyone needed a room of one’s own. I remember nothing else about it. Years later in the 90s I spoke to my mother about it. She was mortified by these memories. Shame wove a deep, ugly and tight thread through my family. Shame is something that follows one for a lifetime unless one both changes and forgives oneself.

smoldering June heat
night cicadas loud above
gentle breeze leaves move

It takes a long time to perfect a haiku. This one was written last night and needs much reworking.

Shared with fellow poets at both: Poets United – The Poetry Pantry and dVerse’s Poetry Jam where Kelvin of Kelvin’s Poetry Blog has challenged us to use two idioms to inspire our poetry today. I have used my title and “going out on a limb”. Thank you Kelvin.

To Re-Fresh

barely spring now

like fresh magnolia buds

the heart can refresh

So now, that is what is taking place, now that my heart is refreshing, moving onwards and hopefully upwards, it is time for change in my blogging habits.  I have known for a short amount of time that this must be so.  However, I cannot take credit for the changes that you will see in my blog (that is once I master the technicalities).  I have been working on these technicalities all day and yet, they go un-mastered.  Never mind.  I wish to acknowledge and thank a fellow writer, friend and mentor to many, Jaime Dedes for the changes that I am making.  Her blog can be found here:

1) I will be turning off the comments section.  This will allow me more time to read and enjoy your work.  This will also give me more time to tighten up my own writing.

2) I will create a page where you are welcome to communicate with me.

3) I will be going by my given name: Liz Rice-Sosne (this is needless to say, my idea).

Posted at dVerse

dVerse – Mary’s challenge of Shakespeare’s Seven Life Stages (reinterpreted).

I wish to thank Mary for a challenging and very interesting prompt. An exercise to approach and view, create and review the seven stages of man/woman – according to Shakespeare. Though, to be made uniquely your own, to be done here through haibun. Shared at dVerse Poets Pub “It’s About Time.”

The Seven Stages

Soul
Babe
Youth
Young
Middle Aged
Old
Elderly

Haibun
I have long believed that we started out as soul. We enter the womb and begin changing from all soul to souled flesh and bone. As the balance changes from soul to flesh and blood we are ready to enter the world.

soul like autumn wind
worlds away another galaxy
milkweed pods open

Haibun
A babe is born with cries so self centered and coos so sweet. There is much difference between selfish and self-centered. The new born knows nothing but its own center. Selfish is something that is done from another stage of life. Exploring everything within and without is now the focus. The best thing that one can do is put it in ones mouth.

pod bursts exploding
seeds travel many places
food for chickadees

Haibun
Youthfulness meant playing in the sun, looking for frogs, going to school, building a fort. There was a time when this was innocence before we made it a competition. Today youth is a competition whether in football, as a cheerleader, skiing or just for better grades. Youth was now. Today it is tomorrow.

bananas hanging
from a tree green yellow brown
picked eaten gone

Haibun
They say: “Ah to be young again.” I don’t know why, I surely do not wish to raise children again. I know the young have no time, with kids going here and there in an endless stream of activities. Work while not at home, an arduous balancing act of multi tasking. No time for oneself, a hot bath once a small thing now such a luxury.

caterpillar crawling
tomorrow a butterfly
metamorphosis

Haibun
Middle age still a squall, a proving ground for some. Onward and upwards, will you ever get there, is enough ever enough? So little time to become, become what or whom?

basho traveled far
issa laughed much with life
buson painted life

Haibun
On being old; the body falters. At first an embarrassment, then an annoyance, then who cares? You roll with the punches. Everything surrounding you becomes at once more beautiful and at once more deadly. Many are glad for life. Many are glad for age.

son helping his father
taking his arm walking uphill
who is the father who the son

Haibun
Now elderly, we are getting closer to soul again, closer again to God as our flesh dries and our bones crack. It can be painful but welcome. Have we yet acquired the wisdom of a lifetime? For wisdom is all that we have to pass on to those who come after; wisdom the teachings on how to live with more ease.

like the drying grape
dropping to the ground juicy
sweet new wine to drink

DISCLAIMER – no use of a kigo in any of these seven haiku.

Sunday Trees October 14th 2012

autumns beginning
warm mossy ground covering
tickling my toes

In concert with Becca

Tackle It Tuesday October 9th 2012 Prompt: Morning Dew

Isn’t it fun when someone reads your poem and just thinks that it is nifty … and the words had flowed out of you literally within a few seconds. Is some of your best work that way? Today I struggle and today I have the choice of skipping my haiku day or publishing something that does not make me happy. Hm. We shall choose the latter. I tend not to do 5-7-5 haiku, due to the differences in Japanese word tone counts and English syllable counts, apples and oranges. So my question to you is this: when you count syllables do you find yourself legitimately stretching a word to make it have more syllables? I did it here.

dew drops upon dry
ground creating tiny pools
clear toned cicada

morning dew drops on
trellised chain of hanging gourds
excellent bath mitts

Gratefully placed at Tackle It Tuesday on Chevrefeuille’s delightful blog.